d the Sphinx.

After rather a long silence, the commander resumed the conversation.

"I have hesitated," said he, "but I have thought that my interest might
be reconciled with that pity to which every human being has a right.
You will remain on board my vessel, since fate has cast you there. You
will be free; and, in exchange for this liberty, I shall only impose
one single condition. Your word of honour to submit to it will
suffice."

"Speak, sir," I answered. "I suppose this condition is one which a man
of honour may accept?"

"Yes, sir; it is this: It is possible that certain events, unforeseen,
may oblige me to consign you to your cabins for some hours or some
days, as the case may be. As I desire never to use violence, I expect
from you, more than all the others, a passive obedience. In thus
acting, I take all the responsibility: I acquit you entirely, for I
make it an impossibility for you to see what ought not to be seen. Do
you accept this condition?"

Then things took place on board which, to say the least, were singular,
and which ought not to be seen by people who were not placed beyond the
pale of social laws. Amongst the surprises which the future was
preparing for me, this might not be the least.

"We accept," I answered; "only I will ask your permission, sir, to
address one question to you--one only."

"Speak, sir."

"You said that we should be free on board."

"Entirely."

"I ask you, then, what you mean by this liberty?"

"Just the liberty to go, to come, to see, to observe even all that
passes here save under rare circumstances--the liberty, in short, which
we enjoy ourselves, my companions and I."

It was evident that we did not understand one another.

"Pardon me, sir," I resumed, "but this liberty is only what every
prisoner has of pacing his prison. It cannot suffice us."

"It must suffice you, however."

"What! we must renounce for ever seeing our country, our friends, our
relations again?"

"Yes, sir. But to renounce that unendurable worldly yoke which men
believe to be liberty is not perhaps so painful as you think."

"Well," exclaimed Ned Land, "never will I give my word of honour not to
try to escape."

"I did not ask you for your word of honour, Master Land," answered the
commander, coldly.

"Sir," I replied, beginning to get angry in spite of my self, "you
abuse your situation towards us; it is cruelty."

"No, sir, it is clemency. You are my prisoners o